


Discretion Advised

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap, Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Washington has always been eager to please, but once Dr. Lenora Church starts trying to find his limits, the line between duty and desire starts to blur. Set around Season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discretion Advised

It’s stupid-- she should know better. He’s not Alan, he’ll never _be_ Alan. He follows orders down to the last, he’s _eager_ , he doesn’t fight, he doesn’t bicker, he doesn’t _argue_. It irritates her, sometimes, but she doesn’t want to think too hard on it, not right now. Not when David-- no, _Washington_ , is slipping to the floor in front of her desk while she sits on the edge of it, not when he’s _on his knees_ in front of her.

Church smiles faintly, thumbing over her nails as he just looks up at her for a moment, watches the way he sucks in a breath, unconsciously-- or, maybe consciously straightening his shoulders, keeping his hands to himself for the moment as he _kneels_ there. The fact that she has this power, this control-- that she’s able to do anything right now, doesn’t escape her. It extends beyond this room-- this facility is _hers,_ and it’s more enthralling than anything else except for the blind loyalty she sees splashed across David’s face.

“Ma’am,” he says evenly, and _responds_ , just like that to the little hand gesture, slipping his hands up her skirt, pushing over her thighs and she doesn’t bother hiding the shudder, spreading them for him, letting him ease closer as she toes her shoes off to the side and drags one foot up the inside of his thigh, not missing the way he _shudders_. “I thought I was--”

“ _Later_ ,” Church murmurs, and curls her fingers in his hair, stroking perfectly manicured blue-painted nails through it, lightly over his scalp just to see the way his eyes close a moment, and he starts to drag her stockings down, catching her panties slightly on the way, but he doesn’t go for them, not just yet. 

_He knows better_ , she thinks almost giddily, intoxicated by the way he reacts-- trained to respond to the slightest gesture, a tip of her chin, a stroke of her hand, through his hair, _pulling_ , and his head goes back easily as he helps her out of her stockings and leaves her in just the skirt and blazer. His eyes go dark, just like that-- men are predictable in that way, at times, even Alan himself, though he didn’t like to admit it-- when her fingers stroke over the nape of his neck. She’s already informed him of her plans, already gotten his _agreement_ , now all they need is the AI. He’s certainly not Alan-- Alan doesn’t react like that, isn’t so passive, blindly trusting, but, she thinks, perhaps the Counselor as right-- there is merit in someone who says ‘ _yes_ ma’am’ first, before anything else.

___

Everything-- everyone has their breaking point. People do, just like anything else. She may not be the Counselor, but even she knows people hit a _point_ after a while. David hitting his after months of this is no surprise-- she’s been _waiting_ for it, wanting it, even, because after a while, even _yes_ becomes a word she doesn’t want to hear all the time.

So when he finally ignores her orders-- finally, _finally_ acts on his own, it’s a thrill all on its own, panties shoved down around her thighs, skirt shoved _up_ , and there’s none of David’s careful reverence, none of the care he showed before. He’s too busy fucking her open with two fingers and practically _growling_ when she’s wet and pushing back onto his hand, just like that, with so very little foreplay.

 _There you go_ , she wants to purr, and instead clamps her mouth shut save for the short, soft little moan when he does something right. The sound of his zipper makes her back arch, spreading her legs as far as her shoved-down nylons will allow-- they’re still caught around her thighs and Wash doesn’t hesitate- pushing his fingers through the thin material and ripping them, just so he can push her tight against the desk, lifting one leg up and _yes_ , she thinks, _yes yes yes there you go_.

Lenora still won’t let him kiss her-- and that’s really for the best, she thinks, a sharp gasp fucked out of her as he doesn’t give her any warning past the tightening of his hands on her hips, jerking her back with a slap of flesh on flesh. It’s so much easier to pretend, like this-- they have the same kind of hands, large and rough, and they even sound the same if they don’t talk, low noises like cut off little groans, muffled into the nape of her neck as David grips her hip with one hand, and slides an arm under one of hers to grip her shoulder, jerking her back into each hard thrust.

She’ll let him think it’s because of him, because of _this_ that she comes so quickly, muffling her scream against her hand as she practically melts onto the desk, shaking all the way up until he fucks her through another orgasm, coming with a muted little groan against her. She’ll give him that much, and not tell him when he murmurs a lazy _what_? against her shoulder what name she really said, slumped over the desk, breathing hard.

___

 

The Counselor’s profile is very specific about him-- all the way up until a point. And her interest in him doesn’t wane-- doesn’t ever fade, until they fracture Alpha so much until it’s not a normal fragment, it’s _him it’s him it’s him_.

Lenora just stares mutely at the screen, at the readout, at the simulation of him, and has to stop a moment, breathing in and out and she doesn’t resist when Asaf puts his hands on her shoulders and directs her _away_. “I’ll deal with it,” he says smoothly, and she sits, instead, watching him shut the program down, stop all simulations on Alpha, and he doesn’t comment on the way her hands _shake_ the whole time, all the way until he’s gone, shut down for the moment. “He’s just a byproduct of the process, Lenora.”

Her head lifts, and she stands in one smooth movement, fingers sweeping over the screen, tracing over the readout. No. _No_. They’ve seen the broken fragments, the parts of Alpha that are too damaged to do more than deteriorate. No, he’s something else all together. “He doesn’t have the same read-out. This whole summary-- it’s entirely different than the rest.”

And, for the moment, she pretends like she doesn’t know Asaf so well. Pretends she doesn’t know when she’s just being _humored_ , pretends like she doesn’t notice the way he simply inclines his head and powers down everything with a murmur of _that’s enough for today._

She walks back to her room in silence, save for the click of her heels, and she slides her blazer off the moment she’s in the room, barely taking note of anything until she tosses it onto a chair, and notices David leaning against her desk, just watching her. “You’re upset,” he says, and she nearly curses herself for having forgotten she’d ordered him here-- partially to go over the surgery tomorrow, and partially for _other_ things. The second idea is entirely out of her mind, though-- instead, she shakes her head at him, kicking her shoes off, and drags a stack of papers out, pushing them into his arms, hands drawing back before he sees them shaking.

“Read those. The bottom sheet goes to me, the pink one to the Counselor, and the blue to the complex head. That’s all.”

For a moment, she thinks he won’t follow her orders. He opens his mouth, shoulders tensing, about to protest, but it takes just a _look_ to get him to back down.

“I do believe said that’s _all_ , David. You’ll return to your quarters. I’ll see you before the surgery in the morning.” Her accent thickens when she gets angry-- irritating, but she swallows it down ( shoves down the memories of _him_ , red hair and green eyes, asking her to talk about nothing in particular, because she knows the accent reminds him of home more than anything else. )

David doesn’t argue, and just moves out the door with a soft _yes, ma’am_ , the papers tucked beneath his arm after he salutes her and leaves her standing the dim room, staring at the floor.

Alan didn’t say yes so easily-- doesn’t _yield_ , doesn’t follow orders unless he thinks they’re worthwhile. The idea that David follows orders so easily almost disgusts her, really-- a soldier needs a _backbone_ , more than anything else. Good soldiers don’t simply follow orders, not really.

That night, she doesn’t sleep. She spends all night running over projections and papers and god knows what else, and pours over hand-written notes, scribbled in the margins of paper that she still needs to type up. She rolls out of bed the next morning and showers, dressing quickly, ignoring the way the Counselor gives her a knowing once-over and hands her a coffee, walking with her to the lab. He doesn’t need to ask if Lenora’s going to attend the surgery-- it’s so far from her mind as to be nonexistent. Instead, he walks her to the lab, gives her a _second_ cup of coffee, and quietly tells her he’ll be back in a few hours.

By the time she’s too tired to even think, the surgery is over and she’s fragmented Alpha four more times in the span of just a few hours, giddy with the possibility of what they’re doing. Self-doubt has no room in there-- the computers are still running tests on the piece, still scanning over it and determining exactly _what_ it is, but she knows. It’s _Alan._ It’s as goddamn close to Alan as she can get, and she already knows what she’s going to do.

Asaf slides back in the door with a blanket and a glass of water this time, pressing one into her hands, the other draped over her shoulders. “You need to rest,” he says evenly, and walks her to the couch where she’s spent many nights, pleased that she doesn’t argue. “I’ve-- made your excuses to our Agent Washington, as to your absence. He was....concerned, to say the--” She’s already asleep by the time her head hits the pillow, and he trails off, adjusting the blanket, powering all the computers off for a few hours.

__

“He’s acting within suspected parameters, you know,” Asaf sighs over breakfast, watching her pace as the simulations on Alpha run in the background, and she nurses a glass of sweet tea, fiddling with the lemon on it. “His outburst this morning before the implantation process was entirely understandable, considering previous--”

“ _Transgressions_ , yes, indeed, Asaf, I am _more_ than aware of your feelings on my impulses,” Lenora drawls, and squeezes her lemon into the tea, tossing it into the trash when she’s done, glancing over at the datapad next to her every so often. In the room in front of her, glass windows showing everything, David is strapped in, metal clamping over his wrists, his legs, and his head is supported by cushioned clamps as well, just in case. He glances over, every so often, and Asaf tries not to sigh at the way David’s face looks every time he realizes that no. No, she’s not looking over, she’s paying attention to the datapad or something else.

They’re very, very close right now-- closer than they’ve ever been to running all this, and much as Lenora is his _friend_ , she is also prone to bouts of foolishness.

Neatly, he plucks the datapad away from her, and turns it off, nodding pointedly at the glass. “We have not gotten as far as we have right now, Lenora, for you to waste it making enemies of the very men and women you’ve spent the last two years gaining and _befriending_. Rumors have already started circulating among them of rougher than projected implantation. It would do you, David, and the _rest_ , a great deal of good to go in there with him, rather than staring at data that is still compiling.”

For a moment, he thinks she’ll disagree, but she nods, silently, sliding out of her chair and into the room, barely noticing the way David’s face goes slack with relief, twitching in the restraints. “You came,” he says, and _smiles_ , brilliant and relieved, loyal down to the last, like a dog, really. He looks up to her-- respects her just as much as anything else, and even when they were in bed, he still looked at her in that goddamn reverentway.

( Alan doesn’t smile like that-- it’s sharp and mocking and _goading_ , even, like he’s daring her to say something, to fight with him about the most inane things, and it still makes her stomach clench in the best-- )

“Indeed,” Lenora murmurs, already heading for the computer to check a few things, sliding back when they come in with the chip-- Asaf knocks on the window, twice, and she takes the damn hint, reaching out without being told, and gripping his hand. The sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed, and she smiles at him, patiently, counting down the moments until this is over and she can go _back._ “It’s easier if you relax, and close your eyes, they say.”

David does, and the chip slides home, and from the way he screams, sharp and sudden and _straining_ against the metal, crushing her hand in his, Lenora wonders if this is one of the last times he’ll actually obey her.


End file.
